Recalled to Life
by KatLokidottir
Summary: Inspired by a Tumblr prompt. Contains Major Character Death. Loki, now an Avenger, is husband to one Tony Stark. When Tony is killed one day in a fight, Loki is distraught. He will do anything to get Tony back, even if it means selling his soul to Death herself.
1. Chapter 1

It was a suitable day for a funeral: rainy, foggy, and miserable. The world became monochromatic as the grey of the skies blurred with the black overcoats and umbrellas of the many mourners.  
He had been a popular man, world famous, in fact, for his genius, his playboy persona, and his dedication to the side of the angels in every fight, so quite a significant amount of people showed up. None, save a handful, were important: the deceased's renowned team, his real friends, of which there were only several. A red-haired CEO. Those 6, and one more. His husband, a tall, slender, dark haired man who had started out as his worst enemy but quickly became friends, and then... Well, you can figure it out from there. As the crowd slowly began to disperse, only those 6 people remained at the final resting place of their best friend. One by one, even these slunk away, wiping tears from their faces as they headed back to their lives, now more empty than before. Soon, only the lover was left, holding a vibrant red rose. His favorite. He knelt down before the tomb, ignoring the wet ground staining the knees of his trousers. He gently laid the flower on top of the recently-overturned dirt, now covering his beloved's body six feet beneath his own. He closed his eyes and heaved in a large breath before an unbidden sob was torn from his aching chest. The salty tears dripped onto the already-soaking earth, minuscule crystals against a plain of brown.  
"I'm so sorry," he choked, head falling into his trembling hands.  
He knelt there for what seemed like ages, letting the water pouring from the sky wash over his face. Even the heavens were weeping.  
Suddenly there was a cloth wrapped around his shoulders, held in place by firm, familiar hands. He looked up at the man kneeling next to him, his blonde hair hanging limply around his shoulders as he wrapped a comforting hand around the weeping lover, bringing him into his chest for a hug, letting his tears stain his jacket as he held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.  
The two brothers sat there in the rain for hours, a dark silhouette against the rest of the world. The rain clicked as it hit the pavement, and the sounds of heartbreak permeated the air of the small cemetery. And still they sat there, unwilling or unable to move until at last the Captain forced them inside.

* * *

Loki stared out the window, as was typical since Tony's death. No one knew what he was looking at. No one asked. If they had, they would have been ignored by the man, who would continue to simply stare out into the nothingness.  
Sometimes they would bring him food, try to encourage him to eat. He refused. They tried to get him to do things with them. He refused. All he did was stare out the window, looking at something only he could see.  
Eventually they left him alone, still bringing up trays of food for him, then taking them back an hour later with only a nibble eaten. And still he went without saying that any conversations involving Tony took place far from the tower.

* * *

Avengers business went on, but now they were two members down: one dead, one as good as dead.  
Everything was far more subdued without the incessant witticisms of Stark. Of course, no one would say this, but everyone knew it.  
The slot of Iron Man was soon filled by Col. Rhodes, the Iron Patriot.  
No one mentioned it to Loki.

* * *

Loki came down to eat one day, about three months after, "The Incident." He was silent and avoidant, but at least he came downstairs. And he ate all of his cereal.  
Everyone observed this silently, not willing to say anything lest it turn out to keep him from doing it again.

* * *

Loki was back on the team, now. He'd had quite a shock when Iron Patriot was there, but he quickly managed to ignore it as much as possible. And if anyone noticed that he avoided Rhodey, well, no one said anything.

* * *

He strayed around the tower, now, occasionally freezing and just standing there, lost in thought. The rest of the team learned to stay away when he got like this, giving him a wide berth until he would abruptly snap out of his stupor and continue wandering the halls like a ghost, as if he'd never stopped in the first place.  
He still didn't talk except pertaining to Avengers business.

* * *

Bruce tried to sit down and talk to him, once. Loki had just stared at him blankly, his face emotionless, eyes unfocused.  
Bruce stood and left.

* * *

He tried again a few weeks later. All Loki did was repeat two words, over and over like a mantra.  
"My fault."  
Bruce tried to assure him that it was quite the opposite, but the god wasn't listening anymore, his mind far away where no one could reach. Safe.

* * *

Two years later, things were almost back to normal. Loki was mostly back to his old self, only occasionally losing himself from this world. The team took it as an improvement.  
No one noticed how Loki disappeared from his room sometimes, returning with ancient, dusty books covered in intricate runes. He immersed himself in these every night, and if JARVIS noticed, he remained silent.

* * *

Then he disappeared for a whole two weeks. No note. No message. Just a flash of light from his window, then nothing.  
Upon conducting a search of his room, they discovered an array of items.  
A pentagram. A shining silver blade. White powder. A stone bowl of red liquid. An array of candles. A match. A piece of burlap with an odd symbol painted on in the same blood from the bowl. And a spellbook, opened to a faded page illustrating what looked suspiciously like Hell.

* * *

He returned with a grin on his face, but it seemed... off, somehow. There was something dangerous in that smile. And if his teeth appeared sharper, his pupils bigger, no one said anything to him.  
He also returned with a living Anthony Stark.

* * *

It was news everywhere. People rejoiced, loved ones rushed to embrace him. They questioned him about what happened, why he was back, but everything since that battle was a blur of indecipherable color.  
They asked Loki once. After that, they didn't ask anymore, not wanting to face his new explosive anger over that particular question.

* * *

Loki was spending most of his time by Tony's side, making up for lost time.  
Yes, he disappeared more often in the middle of the night, but he was always back by morning, so it was okay. Right?

* * *

One night he came back with blood on his hands. Everyone was asleep but Clint, who jumped up out of his chair at the table where he'd been cleaning his bow to question Loki.  
In an instant he was pinned to the counter, arms twisted painfully behind him as the god leaned over him, bending his head down to hiss into Clint's ear. "You will say nothing of this or I will personally kill you in the most sadistic, excruciating way possible and hang your mangled corpse from the chandelier. Do I make myself clear?"  
Clint, stiff beneath him, nodded in affirmation, and the god released him. He turned to say something, but Loki was gone, the only sign that he was ever there the bloody handprints on the archer's forearms.  
Something was very, very wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

He was usually with Tony, nowadays. He'd become extremely protective of the genius, going so far as to refusing to let him enter a room first or leave the Tower without an escort. Tony thought it was sweet, if a little strange, but everyone else thought it was oddly possessive, although they supposed he had the right to be after what happened.

* * *

Clint, who had usually tried to hang out with the Avengers, primarily Loki, while he was depressed, stayed far away from everyone, and was alone quite often. He could usually be found climbing onto the roof's antenna system, letting the soft thrum of power beneath his fingertips lull him into an almost meditative state. He was, during these times, as conscious as ever of what was going on around him, but was able to push that to the back of his mind, like a constantly-running computer program, so that he could truly think. Recently, his thoughts had been filled with Loki's strange behavior. And the blood. The Avengers noticed his frequent disappearances, but dismissed them easily. He was on a mission, or staking out a safe house, or using random people's hats for target practice. There was nothing wrong, he was just... busy.

* * *

When Loki left again that night, he was, in fact, perfectly aware that a certain archer was following him, trying to remain unheard and unseen. He chuckled silently. Well, curiosity killed the hawk.

* * *

Clint stuck to the shadows, following Loki at a distance, making sure to keep him in sight. Suddenly, Loki whirled around and Clint barely managed to duck into an alleyway in time. He let out a shallow breath, turning to peek around the corner of the building. He gasped. Loki was gone, just like that. Three seconds and there was no trace of him.

* * *

A hand clapped over his mouth and another deftly pinned his arms to his sides. Clint struggled furiously, but the man behind him was too strong. Suddenly, the telltale familiar snick of a gun hammer made Clint freeze. He was forced forward, pressed roughly to the wall as a pair of hands feeling similar to the ones restraining him searched his body quickly but thoroughly for weapons, removing the Sig Sauer and collapsible bow and quiver from his reach. All Clint could think was, "Fuck."

* * *

"Hello, little hawkling," murmured Loki into his ear. Clint's heart stopped. Loki? He renewed his struggle against the man pinning him, but the grip tightened into iron, and Clint had to stop moving or risk having his bones broken by the pressure of the fingers pressing into his skin. "Shhhhhh. I'm not going to kill you, only teach you a lesson, hmm? Clearly you do not understand what I mean when I say stay away."

"Yes, well, I'm not very good at following orders," rasped Clint, "or haven't you heard?"

The chuckle from behind him set his nerves on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Oh, I've heard, Clint, but I thought you had enough sense not to question me about blood on my hands when you have quite enough on yours."

"I do not have lots of blood on my hands," hissed Clint.

Loki laughed. "Really? If I do recall correctly, I believe you are an assassin. You get paid to kill things. You're so good at it, _you do it without trying. _Take Manhattan a few years ago, for example. How many agents did you kill, despite your best efforts to avoid deaths, hmm? How many people do you think got killed when you crashed the quinjet? When your rooftop exploded? When the Chitauri hovercraft that you shot crashed?"

Clint closed his eyes, trying to fight the waves of guilt rolling through him. "Stop..." he murmured, but Loki continued on.

"And what about all those people you've killed for SHIELD? Surely you don't believe it was only terrorists who were killed in those hits? And before SHIELD? Remind me again how you got on SHIELD's radar in the first place? You're a killer, Clint, whether or not the law is on your side. So why are you going after me, huh? As if you are any better, as if you have less blood on your own hands?"

"STOP!" Clint yelled. "JUST STOP!"

Loki laughed. "Why? Does the truth _hurt? _It's funny, people say it's because I'm the God of Lies that my words hurt so, but no, it is the truths that hurt the most."

"It doesn't matter, anyways, Loki. I want to know why you are killing people, now. At least I think that is what you're doing."

"Oh, it is," breathed Loki. "So... invigorating. A life for a life, right? Tony comes back, others must take his place. How much is Tony worth? 100 souls. 100 people to kill to have Tony live forever," hummed Loki, and Clint began to panic because he sounded absolutely _delusional and fuckin' scary._

Loki released him but kept him more or less cornered. Clint knew that he couldn't run. Not fast enough.

The god pulled back the sleeve on his right hand, and Clint stared at the outstretched hand in confusion.

Loki pressed a finger of his opposite hand to the wrist of the outstretched, tracing a small design onto the wrist.

Clint stared in horror at the god's palm as black words began carving themselves into the skin, running in a circle around the palm.

"Skygge mann," whispered Loki, reading the words. "Shadow man."

Clint gaped. "What? You mean- you made a- you- what?"

"I made a deal with my daughter, Hela," whispered Loki. "She is the goddess of Hel, and I cast a spell to visit her, to plead for her to let Tony come back. She said that she could not simply release him, that she would need payment." Loki murmured. "She offered a trade: one hundred people for Tony to come back to the land of the living forever. He would be immortal if I killed one hundred people."

He laughed wryly. "I didn't even think about it, really, because for me there wasn't a choice. I agreed."

Clint just looked at him, horrified. "You have to kill one hundred people so _Tony_ could come back?"

"Yes."

"How many have you killed so far?" whispered the archer, scared to find out the answer.

"27."

"So you're telling me you have to kill _73 more people?!"_

"Yes."

"Ummm, Loki?" started Clint, backing away slightly. "Don't you think that perhaps this is a bit excessive, and oh, I don't know, _wrong?"_

"No," replied Loki coolly, and Clint shuddered when he realized that Loki actually meant it. "They would die eventually anyways, I am just putting their deaths to use."

"Uh huh," replied Clint. "Well, thanks for the chat, but I think I'll be going now."

He turned towards the street and began walking, trying to look as if he was not running while trying to run as fast as possible.

"Clint?" said Loki from behind him.

"Yes?"

"How would you like to be number 28?"


	3. Chapter 3

Clint broke into a flat-out sprint at this, tearing off down the street like he was being chased by a pack of lions. Truth is, he was being chased by something worse.

Suddenly he slammed into something hard, and he fell backwards onto the pavement. He looked up to see Loki standing in front of him, an amused smirk on his face and a dangerous glint in his eyes. He scrambled backwards, only to be stopped by... another Loki? Wait, what?

The not-Loki gripped his arms bruisingly, hauling him upright into a kneeling position. Clint fought the arms desperately, but the grip only tightened.

Loki stepped forwards, cupping his hands beneath Clint's chin as he squatted down onto the level of the archer. He could feel the man's pulse pounding against his fingers, and grinned.

"You know, it's not polite to run away from someone while there talking to you, Clint."

"Well, it's not polite to kill people either but here you are," Clint retorted.

"Touche," hummed Loki.

"Loki, you don't have to do this," said Clint, staring at Loki pleadingly.

"Oh, but I do. I will not allow Tony to die in the stead of others. He has given these people all they could ask for, now it is his turn to gain something back."

"But, Loki, do you think Tony would approve of... this? These murders?"

Loki glared. "It matters not, for he is not making the decision. I, however, am, and you, Clint," he said, pulling a blade from his pocket, "Are truly beginning to make me choose you as the one to knock down the remaining number to 72."

Clint eyed the knife in Loki's hands, trying to mask his fear with anger.

"You can't kill me. The Avengers will kill you if you lay a hand on me."

Loki chuckled. "Will they, now? As I recall, they don't even trust you. And it would be so easy to explain away your death," mused Loki, bringing the knife up to Clint's face. The archer turned his head away, but the god's other hand came up and held him in place as the blade was placed against his skin. "A tragic accident during SHIELD work, an accident while stalking a suspect, an enemy assassin. There would be so many ways to make you disappear without them ever realizing it was I who did away with you."

Clint swallowed heavily as the blade broke skin, a thin line of scarlet appearing on his face.

"Of course, there are better uses for you than that," says Loki, drawing the blade away as he carefully wipes the small amount of blood onto his tunic.

"Like what?" asks Clint cautiously.

"Well, you could always help me."

"What? Why would I help you murder innocent people?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow at him as he began twirling the knife in the air, spinning it then catching it, over and over.

"Well, I suppose I could always just kidnap you and kill the redhead when she comes looking for you," mused Loki.

Clint's heart fell into his stomach. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? You know me, Clint. I will do whatever is necessary to achieve my goals."

Clint closed his eyes, thinking rapidly.

"Tick, tock, Clint. I have places to go, things to do, people to kill."

Clint glared at Loki.

"Fine," he spat through gritted teeth.

Loki grinned.


End file.
